When I was researching and reading about selkies, I kept coming across references to them as mermaids. Margo Lanagan in The Brides of Rollrock Island does not actually call her seal-women selkies; but she does use the word mermaid. Other tales and authors have done the same.
The word means “sea-girl” or “sea-maid,” which is accurate enough for a creature whose native form is an aquatic mammal. But when I think of mermaids, I default to a somewhat different creature: the woman with the fish’s tail. Unlike the selkie, she doesn’t take two disparate forms, entirely seal or entirely human. She’s both at once.
The legend of the fish-human is ancient. The Mesopotamian god Dagon could manifest as a man with a the tail of a fish. The Assyrian goddess Atargatis cast herself into a lake out of grief for a lost lover, and her lower body was transformed into a fish’s tail. THe Sirens of Homer’s Odyssey bore a closer resemblance to Harpies—women’s upper bodies and the lower bodies of birds—but by the Middle Ages the avian half had given way to the piscine. Sea-nymphs and water nymphs and spirits both benign and malevolent dwelt in rivers and lakes and streams, sometimes offering gifts or love, and sometimes luring hapless humans to a watery death.
Nor is the mermaid relegated solely to Western Europe. She manifests in Africa and in Asia. Sailors have fantasized about her all around the world, and sworn solemnly that no, she is not a myth; she is real.
Maybe she’s a seal seen from far off, looking like a human head rising, water-sleek, from the sea. Maybe she’s a dugong or a manatee, vaguely human in the upper body, with a tail that seems quite fishlike enough. And maybe she’s a mummified monkey’s torso sewn onto a taxidermied fishtail and displayed in a notorious collection of curiosities.
Buy the Book
Under the Smokestrewn Sky
And yes, there are mermen, too: there’s a whole species living in the sea, serving the gods of the ocean and ruling over subterranean kingdoms. They may be gods or half-gods or divine servants. Or they are, more simply, a sentient species living underwater the way humans live on land.
The mermaid is more than a myth and a legend. She (or he or they) may be a metaphor. Like the selkie, she can reflect the role of women in a culture—both the good and the bad. She may go beyond metaphor, into cosplay, and exhibitions of attractive young people (usually women) swimming in mermaid tails, and even a reality show.
In recent years the LGBTQ+ community has claimed the mermaid for its own. The vision of the being who is neither fish nor human but a combination of both, has deep meaning for people who don’t fit the standard perception of gender. This applies especially to trans people, who may see themselves, like mermaids, as half of one gender (or species) and half of another.
It’s fascinating to see how persistent the legend of the mermaid is and has been. There’s something about this particular being that speaks to the human imagination in multiple ways across ages and cultures. Who knows, maybe somewhere deep in our genes, we still remember when we were sea creatures, before we took that first step on land.
I have a list of films and written works that I’ll be visiting and revisiting for this chapter of the Bestiary, but as always, I’d love to know about your favorites. What would you particularly like me to read or watch? What should I absolutely not miss? What is essential canon for understanding and appreciating the lore of the mermaid?
Judith Tarr is a lifelong horse person. She supports her habit by writing works of fantasy and science fiction as well as historical novels, many of which have been published as ebooks. She’s written a primer for writers who want to write about horses: Writing Horses: The Fine Art of Getting It Right. She lives near Tucson, Arizona with a herd of Lipizzans, a clowder of cats, and a blue-eyed dog.
